“You can never know if a person forgives you when you wrong them. Therefore it is existentially important to you. It is a question you are intensely concerned with. Neither can you know whether a person loves you. It’s something you just have to believe or hope. But these things are more important to you than the fact that the sum of the angles in a triangle is 180 degrees. You don’t think about the law of cause and effect or about modes of perception when you are in the middle of your first kiss.”
Its exhausting, being the second best person. Being the person who is approached as only a ladder to somebody else. I stopped, momentarily; putting efforts and making the first text. I now realise that must have been culminated to the realisation that I was the only one interested. I try to make up for my face, with humour and a better personality but I ruin even that by need to overshare and overthink.
“I have manipulated everyone who has ever fallen in love with me to fall in love with me and that either makes me a very good liar or a very unlovable human being.”
sometimes i feel more like a house than a person with the way i decorate my body and my face to hide damaged walls and empty spaces; my heart is more like a door with changed locks because i’ve made multiple keys for people who walked all over me with filthy shoes, people who said they could live here, but they were just passing through. i hope my eyes are not windows, because i fear what the world might see—all of my flaws and insecurities on display like a coffee table or some shoddy love seat. sometimes i swear i left the oven on and forgot because my mind feels like a smoke detector with the way my apprehension never calms. i smell smoke, but i can’t see it; i’m told things are never as bad as i make them, but every wildfire starts with a spark and it’s easy to burn when you’re a house made of straw.
“I’m the one before the one In every case there is I’m not the one you’ll marry , I can’t be your soulmate I’m just the one who helps you let go of all the weight I’ll tear down all your walls with me you’ll open up You’ll see that love is not so bad and in fact you’ll ask for more But I’m the one before the one
Which I knew before we’d even begun In me you’ll see the things you want but always at an extreme
Since I don’t know how to be somebody that can do anything in between I’ll push you and i’ll better you I’ll ask for way too much Only because I want you to show the world what you’re capable off I’ll call you out on bullshit , i’ll nag about your plans I’ll soon become the one person you love but cannot stand I’m the one before the one because after me you will find love With somebody who gives you just the right amount of everything I did too much…”
“I swear to god I didn’t mean to fall in love with you but the way you touched me made me mold into the shape of your body and when you smiled, the dead garden in my heart felt sunlight for the first time in a long time and now it’s taking over to my lungs and vines are gripping my throat and I think that’s why I can hardly breathe around you so when I place my kisses on your neck, shoulders, chest, and lips it’s because I need to tame some of the wild nature you planted within me”
“Unhappy memories are persistent. They’re specific, and it’s the details that refuse to leave us alone. Though a happy memory may stay with you just as long as one that makes you miserable, what you remember softens over time. What you recall is simply that you were happy, not necessarily the individual moments that brought about your joy. But the memory of something painful does just the opposite. It retains its original shape, all bony fingers and pointy elbows. Every time it returns, you get a quick poke in the eye or jab in the stomach. The memory of being unhappy has the power to hurt us long after the fact. We feel the injury anew each and every time we think of it.”
— Cameron Dokey, Belle: A Retelling of “Beauty and the Beast” (via larmoyante)
(You) tried to love me, and that’s what counts. You put your whole heart into the attempt, but I guess you couldn’t get past my hundreds of thousands of flaws. Maybe you (got) sick of me, sick of trying to stay with me. I could tell that you were (tired), and believe me, so was I. It was hard anticipating your every reaction to my every word. I was scared (of) what you would do, say, or feel. As we went on, I thought more and more about you and less and less about myself. I started paying too much attention to the words “us” and “you” and not enough to the word “(me.)” Maybe that was the problem. I invested too much of myself into our relationship—more than you could handle. I probably scared you away. I wish I wouldn’t have, because you never got to see all of me. The best parts of me. But you left because you saw some of my worst parts—the bad, frightening ones. You probably thought that you were better off safe than (sorry.)
